The girl started to her feet.
“Do you think it is your prayer, and not mine, that has reached God's ears?'” she cried.
“The prayer of a nobler woman than either of you or I has gone to the throne,” said the other.
Lydia's eyes grew dark with resentment.
“You could have prevented all———”
“Be good enough to remember that you have said all that to me before, Lydia.”
“What is your object in keeping me away from him at such a time as this, Mrs Brood?” demanded Lydia. “You refuse to let me go in to him. Is it because you are afraid of what———”
“There are trying days ahead of us, Lydia,” interrupted Yvonne. “We will have to face them together. I can promise you this: Frederic will be saved for you. To-morrow, next day, perhaps, I may be able to explain everything to you. You hate me to-day. Everyone in this house hates me, even Frederic. There is a day coming when you will not hate me. That was my prayer, Lydia. I was not praying for Frederic, but for myself.”
“For yourself? I might have known you———”
“You hesitate? Perhaps it is just as well.”